epistle to john goldie, in kilmarnock
author of the gospel recovered.—august, 1785
o gowdie, terror o' the whigs,
dread o' blackcoats and rev'rend wigs!
sour bigotry, on her last legs,
girns an' looks back,
wishing the ten egyptian plagues
may seize you quick.
poor gapin', glowrin' superstition!
wae's me, she's in a sad condition:
fye: bring black jock, her state physician,
to see her water;
alas, there's ground for great suspicion
she'll ne'er get better.
enthusiasm's past redemption,
gane in a gallopin' consumption:
not a' her quacks, wi' a' their gumption,
can ever mend her;
her feeble pulse gies strong presumption,
she'll soon surrender.
auld orthodoxy lang did grapple,
for every hole to get a stapple;
but now she fetches at the thrapple,
an' fights for breath;
haste, gie her name up in the chapel,
near unto death.
it's you an' taylor are the chief
to blame for a' this black mischief;